“We’ll start before dawn.”
“Before dawn.”
“I’ll shut the shop, and prospect along with you.”
“That’s the way of it. You an’ me’ll be mates right through; and we’ll paint this town red for a week when we’ve made our pile.”
“Jake! Drat that boy; where is he? Jake, come here.”
The shock-headed youth came running from the back yard, where he was chopping wood.
“Me and this gentleman,” said his master, “are going for a little excursion. We start to-morrow morning. See? I was thinking of closing the shop, but I’ve decided to leave you in charge till I return.”
The lad stood with his hands in his pockets, and blew a long, shrill whistle. “Of all the tight corners I was ever in,” he said, “this takes the cake. I’ll want a rise in wages—look at the responsibility, boss.”
The goldsmith laughed. “All right,” he said. “You shall have ten shillings a week extra while I’m away; and if we have luck, Jake, I’ll make it a pound.”
“Right-oh! I’ll take all the responsibility that comes along. I’ll get fat on it. And when you come back, you’ll find the business doubled, and the reputation of B. Tresco increased. It’ll probably end in you taking me in as partner—but I don’t care: it’s all the same to me.”